


The Permanence of a Yes

by stillgold



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, angsty rubbish, it's nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgold/pseuds/stillgold
Summary: Kun has never been able to say no to Leo, even when Leo always says no. But it turns out yeses and nos are not permanent--and everyone can start over.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, why am I writing something when I already have two fics which need to be updated? Nobody knows. Also, why am I writing such angsty nonsense? We're all pondering, folks. Nobody knows why I do what I do. Thirdly, there has been very little rereading of what I've just written so if you find grammar/punctuation/nonsense written, roll with it, please. That said, enjoy?

It’s the keys that bother him the most.

Kun never knows when Leo’s going to show up. It happens every time Kun has almost forgotten, when he’s almost convinced himself that he’s over Leo. He always tells himself that it’ll be different this time, that he won’t give in, he won’t allow Leo to just walk into his life and leave him a mess for another few months.

But he can’t say no to Leo.

He thinks it when Leo comes in the night. And Leo only comes at night—he’s too careful, too smart to do it in daytime. He sneaks in the garage, uses those damn keys and then casually tosses them on the coffee table.

And Kun never looks at him—not right away, at least. He always stares at those keys—because those keys are Leo’s permission, those keys are Kun’s _yes_ , those keys are his downfall.

Sometimes Leo fucks him right there, uses lube from his pocket. And as Leo thrusts inside him, Kun stares at those keys and thinks about the permanence of a _yes_.

Occasionally, Kun even tries. When Leo touches his face, Kun murmurs _no_ , but what does a _no_ mean when his mouth is already turning to find Leo’s, when he’s saying _no_ into Leo’s kisses, when he’s moaning _no_ as Leo’s hand slips into Kun’s jeans—what is a _no_ worth, then?

But it doesn’t matter. It never matters. As Leo brushes kisses over Kun’s face, Kun considers what it would be like to not have to savour this moment. To have the knowledge that this would never go away, that Leo would always be his, that Kun would never have to wake up to an empty bed, feeling hollowed out, his thoughts echoing inside a blank void, ricocheting off his organs like bullets.

 

* * *

 

Kun doesn’t blame Leo, not really. It is difficult to not be resentful at all, but Kun understands that Leo coming to him are breakdowns in a daily struggle. That Leo only gives in when he can’t bear to stay away any longer. Leo doesn’t come because he can, but because he can’t _not_ any longer.

They never say anything substantial. It is all sex talk, all _yes_ es and _oh_ s and _more_ and _harder_ and _fuck_ and _so good_. Sometimes, Kun wonders what it would be like to have Leo say _I love you I love you I love you_ instead of _Kun Kun Kun_.

But their meetings have made him a good bargainer. He learns to bargain with himself. _Today if I run 10 miles it will be okay that I let Leo fuck me_. _Today if I don’t eat my dinner it’ll be okay that he didn’t kiss me goodbye when he left this morning._

A part of him knows that his bargaining is nothing more than punishment, but he deserves it, doesn’t he? He should be stronger, shouldn’t he? He should say no with conviction, right? He should at least— _at least_ —resist for the first few minutes, right?

He has a draft in his text messages that says

 _Give me back the keys_.

He composed it the first time Leo left his bed saying _I’m sorry I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry_. He stares at it every now and then, his hand hovering over the send button, but there are always reasons. Leo’s birthday, the Copa final, Leo’s injured, it’s Thiago’s birthday, it’s Kun’s birthday, it’s such a nice day in Barcelona.

There are always reasons.

 

* * *

 

Kun is used to Leo leaving so early in the morning that it’s not even light outside. He knows he’s not supposed to be awake. The first few times, he didn’t wake up when Leo left, but now Kun knows better. He doesn’t sleep. Because the few hours Leo gives him here, in a bed with his arm around him, his breath warm in Kun’s ear, his icy-cold feet against Kun’s—because those hours are all Kun can get and Kun knows better than to sleep through it.

Leo knows. He knows Kun has started to stay awake, but Kun doesn’t know he knows until one day when, as Leo slips from the sheets, he says to Kun

_at least try to get some sleep now_

Kun thinks of what that means for hours later, feeling heavy and bruised and numb.

Did that mean Leo was awake too? Did he know that those hours are precious too?

But Kun can’t do this; he can’t go over this over and over again, like a broken record. Because he has no answers and Leo won’t give him answers and he is only playing himself, over and over.

So, instead, he gets up and bargains with himself.

 

* * *

 

One night, Leo is different. There is violence in his eyes, fire and urgency and something out-of-control. He is crazed; he doesn’t let Kun breathe, doesn’t want to stop. He makes Kun come over and over and Kun cries, not just because he’s overstimulated, but because there is an urgency in Leo that makes him panic.

Deep down, he knows. He knows what it means when Leo kisses him goodbye for the first time, when Leo cradles his face and kisses him for a long time, his tender kiss somehow much worse than his careful padding out of bed at 3 am in the morning.

Kun does something he doesn’t ever do. He holds onto Leo’s hand as he tries to get out of bed.

Leo meets his eyes and Kun knows for sure now. And Kun says the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t:

_please_

Kun doesn’t cry, but it’s worse than tears anyway. Because, as he looks at Leo’s face, at Leo’s scrunched-up face, Kun knows he’s begged for something he’s already lost and why couldn’t he have just kept _quiet for just one more morning._

Leo only whispers

_Kun_

And that is enough--Kun’s grip loosens and Leo slips away, not looking back.

Kun lays in bed and stares at the painting over his desk. He can only see it when he’s in bed and it’s just a tiny bit crooked. Not enough to notice until you’re in bed and looking directly at it. He’s always too lazy to fix it and forgets every morning when he gets out of bed, but now he tosses back the covers, leaping towards the desk. He climbs up on the desk and moves it just a smidge until it is perfect. The noise is almost enough to drown out the sound of the back door closing.

He tells himself he shouldn’t go, but he can’t help himself. He shuffles to the kitchen slowly, his joints stiff and awkward and sees exactly what he knew would be there:

The keys on the coffee table.

 

* * *

 

There is no tears and Kun is thankful for that. He spends the days in a sort of dry-eyed grief—and he wonders if this is worse. But he doesn’t care because it’s over, it’s finally over, and he doesn’t have to bargain anymore, right?

So he celebrates. He celebrates by partying every night, all night, until 3 am. Then he comes home and sleeps like the dead. He eats two dinners every night, he doesn’t exercise, he celebrates he celebrates he celebrates.

He’s gaining weight and he knows that. He knows it’s hurting him, he knows his footballing is suffering, he knows each pound is making him a clumsier footballer.

But he’s celebrating, right?

 

* * *

 

Kun thinks grief is like being underwater. It’s like everyone telling him to breathe when he cannot, everyone telling him to swim when he doesn’t know how. He can’t hear anything underwater, can barely see.

He drinks too much, too often. He wakes up with puffy eyes and nauseated and thinks _good good_ and drinks some more. He remembers reading that alcohol has an anti-bacterial quality, that it cleanses. And he likes that. So he drinks and drinks until he throws up and thinks about what a clean slate means.

He spends most Sundays like that, avoiding calls, drinking alone. He feels something comforting in the echoing silence of his house, of the roaring emptiness of his house. And when he goes to sleep, he sleeps on the couch because, lately, his bed has become too uncomfortable. He doesn’t like his bedroom—everything in his bedroom is unclean and no matter how many times he washes his sheets, it doesn’t go away.

 

* * *

 

When the doorbell rings at 3 am, Kun is drunk. He opens the door and sees Leo lying on his front porch, staring up at the night sky. Kun sways at the threshold because it is Leo, because he has wanted this, because he is here, at Kun’s front door, because Leo has come finally finally finally.

But as drunk as Kun is, Leo lying on the front porch is not normal. And when Leo turns his head towards Kun, his eyes unfocused, his body loose-limbed and graceful, Kun realizes Leo is drunk too.

Kun has never really seen Leo this drunk. Leo doesn’t drink that way anymore. He doesn’t like losing control and yet here he is, staring at Kun, his eyes blinking up at him owlishly.

And when Kun helps him over the threshold, when he brings Leo to the kitchen to get some water in him, Leo simply sinks onto the floor.

And when Leo cries, Kun thinks that all the grief he felt is not like this, because nothing is as bad as Leo crying here, on the floor, like a child, like he wants his mother, like he just wants to go home.

Leo says _sorry sorry sorry_ and Kun knows he is, but Kun knows it is not enough. It has never been enough. But he is still Kun’s Leo and so Kun holds him until the sun rises.

And when Leo finally raises his head, when he looks at Kun, his eyelashes wet and long, Kun feels his stomach clench. And he says loudly

_never again_

When Leo is still quiet, Kun clutches his shirt and says over and over

_never again never never again never_

Maybe Leo is too drunk to understand, but somehow Kun knows he knows. They both know what Kun means and Leo’s eyes close briefly, squeeze together and it is the only sign of pain Leo shows. But he says nothing, is just quiet, just takes it.

After that, Kun sends Leo home in a taxi. When the car drives off, he goes back inside his house.

He makes his way straight to the bedroom and, for the first time in weeks, sleeps on his bed like a baby.

 

* * *

 

After that, Leo comes over every day. And Kun thinks it is almost like they’re restarting their friendship again because they are weirdly polite to each other, so careful that a stranger would think they were acquaintances and not best friends.

They make sure to never touch each other, skirting around each other, sitting wide apart on the couch. But Leo never misses a day. They spend whole days together, watch movies, cook, and talk until late at night. They laugh together, slowly, carefully, their eyes watchful.

Leo always goes home at midnight. Kun never states it, but it’s understood. And Leo doesn’t argue. He is oddly respectful, oddly considerate.

Once Leo falls asleep on the couch. And Kun is actually tempted to let him stay over. But he thinks of _keys_ and shakes Leo awake. And when Leo stirs, looking at Kun with sleepy eyes, Kun thinks he has said his first yes, but Leo doesn’t know.

 

* * *

 

After that, the yeses comes faster and faster together. Leo doesn’t know, of course, because they happen in Kun’s mind. Like a domino effect. One by one.

Leo will be standing in his kitchen, munching on a bagel, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and Kun will think _yes_.

The _yes_ es are not all equal; some are less important than others. Some are tiny shocks, while others are vaguely like earthquakes, leaving Kun quiet and withdrawn. He knows what these _yes_ es mean and where they go, where they leave Kun, but he thinks of Leo’s infinite _no_ s and it’s as if everything is silenced inside his heart.

 

* * *

 

The first time that Leo touches Kun again is when Kun thinks his final _yes_. Kun is cooking and Leo is standing nearby and there is no reason for it to happen, no magical moment, just a joke and some laughter and suddenly Kun is saying

_yes yes yes_

And maybe Leo knew all along because he’s next to Kun immediately, as if he’s been waiting, as if he’s been ready for weeks, his eyes fierce and Kun tries to think of keys, but he can’t he can’t he can’t and Leo’s here and his mouth is on Kun’s.

He only realizes he’s crying when he tastes it on Leo’s lips.

And he thinks dimly that it’s the first time he’s cried since that morning.

 

* * *

 

But Kun has been hurt too many times—he knows not to expect anything. And so when Leo stays the night, when Leo keeps coming over every single day, when he walks in through the front door, Kun is surprised. Over and over. Again and again. He is surprised every single day.

Leo doesn’t ask for keys. He rings the doorbell. He waits to be let in. He is gentle and tender with Kun, treating Kun like he’s made of glass, like he—

But Kun can’t think of love because he knows what hurt is and so he says nothing. And he keeps setting one plate for dinner every day and Leo never says anything, just gets himself another plate and talks and laughs like they’re together and everything is okay.

 

* * *

 

Leo doesn’t ever ask what will erase a _no_ but both of them know he is trying to figure it out. Kun loves Leo but is also numb to him and he thinks that he’d never thought the two feelings could coexist but here he is.

And maybe Leo understands what Kun wants because, one day when they go to Argentina together to play for an international friendly, Leo is oddly silent, paler than usual. And as they’re about to get off the bus, he turns to Kun and slips his fingers through Kun’s. His eyes are afraid, questioning. It is plain that he has no idea what Kun will say.

But Kun thinks that he’s never said _no_ , not really, not a _no_ that he’s really meant, that he is made of _yes_ es, he’s always been that way and so he just looks at Leo and says nothing.

And when they step out together, holding hands, as the flashes go off, as photographers grasp what they are seeing, Kun thinks that this is what a clean slate means.

Leo turns his head as they walk, looking at Kun and he is blazing, his face fierce and happy and proud and suddenly Kun thinks that, even though Leo doesn’t say it, Kun finally hears it:

_yes_

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! :)


End file.
